Fate in chicken

When I first met my husband we were both flying around for work. One evening we met at National Airport, having come from different planes, and he very sweetly asked what I would like to do for dinner. I was tired and wanted to stay in. I know it was a Wednesday, because I had read a recipe I thought would be fun in the New York Times food section. But before I could tell him that, he reached in his briefcase and pulled out a NYT folded to that very recipe: Beer Can Chicken.

No surprise, that is what we made for dinner. It did peg my then boyfriend as a beer snob, as he only had Heineken (in glass bottles, which wouldn't at all do) in his fridge, and he actually had kind of a problem with buying Budweiser.

I married him anyway.

Nearly a dozen years later, we still make it. If you can't guess from the recipe's title, it involves a beer can and a chicken, some spices and a grill. The kids love it -- the way the chicken hunches over the can like a Wisconsin ice fisherman waiting for a bite. It makes for poultry moist on the inside, with a coating of crunchy skin floating on the outside, kissed with cumin and paprika, which falls off the bone with a delicate steam like a woman fainting.

This method is reminiscent of a rotisserie chicken, but spiking the beer with herbs really ups the intensity of the flavor. On the rotisserie, we stuff the chicken with whatever herb is running away with the garden, in this case lemon balm and parsley, and always a ton of garlic.

Either way, it's a winner. While it sits on the can you have time to sit and catch up on the week, or you can leave it with a magazine and go do laundry. It is truly easy and delicious. Procure an organic chicken (thank you Elaine Boland at Fields of Athenry, AGAIN!) and you've got a home run.

Beer Can Chicken

(from the NYT food section, original recipe, Wednesday, July 7, 1999. I don't know whose copy this is, mine or his, but no matter. It's all ours now:)

1 cup wood chips, soaked in beer or water to cover for one hour then drained
1 can beer
1/3 cup barbeque rub ( this can be varied depending on your tastes. I like the cumin/paprika combo, as mentioned above, but you can easily use a store bought jar. Herbs will work for a more elegant bird, and it is lovely with just sea salt as well. I kind of go by what I want for sides)
1 3-4 lb. chicken

Set the  grill up for indirect grilling. On a charcoal grill, this means lighting the charcoal, and when it is burning separate it into two piles with a foil drip pan in the middle the size of a pie plate. Position the grill above the coals and set the chicken on its pedestal on the grill. Toss the soaked chips on the charcoal to generate smoke. Cover the grill and cook for about an hour. If needed, toss more briquets on and keep the cover off until they ignite. On a gas grill, if it has two burners light one side and cook chicken on the other. If there are three burners light outer two and cook chicken in the middle. Wrap the chips in foil and poke holes on the top; put in on one of the burners. If you do use the rotisserie,  lose the can.

Open beer can and pour half on the chips. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the spice in the can. Sprinkle half of the rest in the cavity of the bird, and the other half rub on its exterior.

Stand beer can on counter and lower each chicken on the can so it covers the main cavity. Pull the legs forward to form a tripod so the chicken will sit up over the can. Carefully put chickens on grill, over the indirect heat.

Throw chips on coals or slip into burners as mentioned above. No matter your cook method, roast chicken until browned and meatiest point of the thigh registers 165 degrees; juices will run clear. Take off grill and discard can, carve and serve.

Enjoy!

The Veal Thing

When Elaine Boland's second youngest daughter was 6, she began gaining weight at a rate so differently than her four sisters that her mother worried. Her energy waned, she had pain in her joints and headaches; some days she "shuffled like a little old man." Doctors said it was just a matter of exercise and diet; one even suggested the girl was getting into her mom's birth control pills ("C'mon. Really?" says the Catholic mother of 5).

So Boland, a farmer, took matters into her own hands. She began growing their own food on her farm, Fields of Athenry in Purcellville, VA,  feeding her family straight from the earth. "If it doesn't rot, don't eat it," became their mantra.

 "We've gotten so far removed from our food sources that we don't even recognize our food," says Boland, a tall, very present woman with a sweep of red gold hair and cowboy boots. "If we would take yesteryear's food in combination with today's medicine, much of the whole health care drama would go away. We could fix adult diabetes, a good deal of depression, sleeping patterns -- and doctors could focus on real illness."

Seven years and brain surgery later, doctors finally diagnosed Cushing's disease, an imbalance of the thyroid that creates unstable cortisol levels, which control energy. But in the meantime Boland has created a utopia of fresh, local goods which she now hopes can help others to find their way back to real food.

When you pull up to Fields of Athenry, you just might see a small lamb trying to go home with a shopper. Inside the retail space around back, goodies galore. Raw milk cheeses, Amish butter. Meat from cows, pigs and sheep raised on pasture, processed weekly to exacting standards. Fridges full of cuts of meat that fill my head with fancies.

First stop, ossobuco. The famous Italian dish made with veal shanks, so hard to come by around these parts, unless one plans ahead and orders them from the butcher (not my strong suit). But here they were, fat, juicy, local, pasture raised veal shanks, for the taking.

Oh my.

Ossobuco

Adapted from The Best of Italy (This is one of those pretty little cookbooks that friends and mothers pick up at the register at bookstores to shove in your stocking. I have tried umpteen Ossobuco recipes, from Rao to Batali and back, and this is the most simple, most reliable I've found.)

4 lbs. veal shanks (I get one per person)
flour for dredging (I use rice flour to omit gluten)
3 teaspoons butter
3 teaspoons olive oil
1 medium onion, minced
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup minced carrots
1/2 cup minced celery
1 cup dry white wine
1 1/2 cups beef stock (I use homemade beef broth; more on this later)
1 1/2 cups canned crushed tomatoes (Try for San Marzano brand)
1 teaspoon dried basil or 1/4 cup fresh, minced
1 teaspoon dried rosemary

for the gremolata:
2 Tablespoons grated lemon rind
1/4 cup parsley
1 garlic clove

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
In a heavy pan or ovenproof casserole over medium heat, heat 1 teaspoon of oil and 1 teaspoon butter. 
Dredge the veal in the flour, and sprinkle the meat with salt and pepper. Brown the veal on both sides and remove to a platter. Heat another teaspoon of butter and one of oil and repeat until all shanks are browned.

Pour off the fat from the pan but leave the drippings. Add the last teaspoon of butter and one of oil and cook onion, celery, carrots and garlic over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 5 minutes. Add wine and reduce for 1 minute. Add stock, tomatoes, herbs, salt and pepper. Return veal to the pot and bring to a simmer. Put in the oven and braise for about 1 1/2 - 2 hours or until tender.

For gremolata: Put lemon rind, parsley, and garlic in a mini chopper and whiz.

When veal is tender, remove shanks to a platter. Reduce the sauce over high heat until desired thickness, about 15 minutes.

To serve: Cover a shank with sauce and sprinkle with gremolata.  Risotto is delicious alongside, or cheesy polenta.(Just buy Bob's Red Mill brand and follow the instructions, corn meal, water, salt, buono!)

Enjoy.